


Prowling Shadows

by royaltyjunk



Category: Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Identity, Post-Canon, wolf's numerous epic bromances: the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27455827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaltyjunk/pseuds/royaltyjunk
Summary: The ominous stone tower remained there, outlined against dark skies of black clouds. Even when Wolf turned his back to it and snapped his mount’s reins, it still remained. Written for the FE Writers' Zine.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3
Collections: Fire Emblem Writer's Zine





	Prowling Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Ideas: I had the privilege of writing a piece for the FE Writers' Zine! It's been a while since I did any work in Archanea, so I'm really grateful for the opportunity to not only write for a world that I haven't been in, but to also be able to do it for charity!

The ominous stone tower remained there, outlined against dark skies of black clouds. Even when Wolf turned his back to it and snapped his mount’s reins, it still remained. The wind blew across the back of his neck, as if simulating the breathing of those dragons from six hundred years ago that they had just fought to seal away—taunting him, almost.

Taunting him with the breath that Coyote would never, ever draw again.

His hands tightened, gripping onto the reins so harshly that his knuckles went white. What did it matter anymore, now that he lived and Coyote did not?

It didn’t. Nothing mattered anymore.

But Coyote would not have said the same thing. He would have wanted them to continue on, to keep fighting—for the sake of the future he had always envisioned.

Taking a deep breath, Wolf pursed his lips.

For Coyote’s sake, then. Not his own.

~ / . / . / ~

The casket was made of wood, painted a lustrous red and embroidered with gold clips. There was a bouquet of lilies set atop the box. Coyote’s body was in there, fitted so tightly into such a small space.

Strange, how such a large man in life could seem so small in death.

It was mounted on a stone altar. On one side, Prince—King, now—Marth. On the other side, the former king of Aurelis. Wolf watched the two men, similarly solemn looks on both of their faces as they stared out over the small crowd that was gathering; they were all gathering for the celebration of a lifeless man in a lea teeming with emerald grass and blossoming flowers and gentle kisses left on everyone’s cheek by the passing wind.

Wolf never expected the day would come where he thought that the wind was cruel and spiteful. But nowadays? It seemed that anything was possible.

After all, Coyote had fallen. That, in and of itself, was supposed to be impossible.

“You wouldn’t know!”

The sound of Roshea, their quietest and most mild-mannered member, screaming made Wolf turn his attention away from the thoughts of impossibility and towards the thoughts of reality. Glancing around, he could see King Aurelis and King Marth standing on the altar, simply too shocked to move. Vyland was racing towards something—no, someone. Roshea.

“You wouldn’t know!” Roshea screamed again. When Wolf pinpointed where he was standing, he was startled to see tears streaming down Roshea’s cheeks as a defiant gaze remained pinpointed on a man standing opposite of him. “You wouldn’t know! Coyote didn’t want to change! He did everything for the sake of the people! He did everything for your sake, for our sakes! He was the most selfless person ever… you don’t know him! Coyote, he was… he was—!”

In the distance, something howled. Everyone fell silent. It was Coyote, come back to life to tell them something that Wolf couldn’t understand, couldn’t interpret and—how exactly had Vyland been able to move so quickly?

“Rosshea!” Vyland grabbed his arm. “...That’s enough. Let’s just go.”

Roshea hesitated for a moment, staring back at the man before lowering his head and letting Vyland lead him away. Wolf simply stared ahead blankly, his hands glued to his sides the whole time.

When the wind kissed his cheek again, he recoiled. Something clawed at his throat, begging to be set free—something he thought he had left behind the day Coyote had freed him from the claws of the aristocracy.

~ / . / . / ~

“King Marth told me that they were using an abandoned village as their hideout,” Vyland explained, leading the way up the mountain trail. “There are about fifteen enemies, by his scouts’ estimates.”

“Easy,” Wolf said with a slight smirk. “They shouldn’t be a problem at all.”

Sedgar shook his head, glancing over at Wolf with a strange emotion in his eyes—concern, he managed to pinpoint after a few seconds. “Don’t get so cocky, Wolf. No matter the numbers or the advantage we have, the enemy could always take the upper hand.”

Typical Sedgar—so, very overcautious. Wolf ran his finger along his bowstring and sighed. “Let’s just go. The sooner we finish this mission, the better.”

Without waiting for a response, he snapped the reins and pushed his mount forward. After a moment of silence, the clopping sound of horse hooves against the dirt trail behind him started up. They travelled on wordlessly, simply following the trodden road through wilted crop fields and overgrown forests and abandoned houses. The shadows stretched long, forming shapes and sizes that clawed at their faces each time they travelled under one of them.

But Wolf found a strange comfort in the darkness—a camaraderie of sorts with it. Ever since he had lost his place at Coyote’s side, he had not belonged. Wolf had been his stout companion, the man who had sworn fealty to the Emperor that destroyed Archanea, the leader of his elite band of men that wreaked havoc upon Archaneans and Macedonians and Alteans alike.

Here, in the darkness? Perhaps, for the first time, he—

“There they are!”

Looking up when Vyland cried out, he followed the direction Vyland’s finger set—pointing out over the horizon at the abandoned village. Bandits, armed to the teeth, were racing down the hill to meet them in combat.

Wolf did not give the order to rush forward. He did not turn to his companions.

Instead, he drew his sword and charged. Nobody followed. Only when the sun caught the glimmer of Wolf’s silver sword and flashed it in their eyes did they realize what had happened.

By then, it was too late. Wolf had struck down the first bandit, the blade ripping through his heart and tearing him asunder. Wolf brandished his sword and charged again, as if entirely unaware of the gash on his arm.

The blood continued to drip, staining his hands and his bow and his quiver even after the battle ended.

“It’s rare to see you so… reckless,” Roshea commented with a faint smile on his lips as he bandaged Wolf’s arm. “I would certainly hope you don’t intend to make this a recurring event. We need our leader, after all.”

At that, Wolf gave him a bittersweet smile. “...I did what I had to do.”

~ / . / . / ~

“Wolf.”

Sedgar was speaking to him. Wolf didn’t bother to look at him, keeping his gaze pinned on the approaching gang of bandits that Roshea and Vyland had already rushed towards to engage in battle. “What is it? Keep it short. We have a battle to get to.”

“Stay safe out there. And don’t do anything unnecessary, please.”

“This again…” Wolf sighed, and turned to look at Sedgar. There was something in the other man’s eyes that made Wolf pause for a moment, that made Wolf reconsider for a moment.

But it lasted for only a second before he snapped back into himself. No. He was right. What he was doing was right. Sedgar would simply never understand.

Keeping his gaze on Sedgar, Wolf pinned him with an entirely unimpressed look. “I am staying safe. I’m doing what is necessary, Sedgar. You wouldn’t understand.” So many battles, so many wounds, and so many lectures. He was getting tired of this typical dance and routine.

“Wolf—”

Wolf turned his back to Sedgar and tugged at his mount’s reins.

“Wolf!”

He didn’t look back. He simply drew his bow and charged into the onslaught.

The first arrow struck down the bandit that Roshea was charging towards. The second one arched through the air and struck another bandit in the shoulder. Wolf notched another arrow, ready to fire, but a loud cry made him turn his gaze; there was another man, running straight towards him with his axe drawn. Uncaring, Wolf shot an arrow and plunged even deeper into the battle.

Here, only the shadows would judge him for what he had done. Here, the wolves howled louder than the sound of his beating heart, which he had come to hate because it must have been what Coyote, all alone with no one at his side in death, had heard in his final moments.

He did not need his heart. All he needed was Coyote, the memory of Coyote, the life of Coyote.

“Wolf!” There went Roshea, screaming again. Why was he—?

A metal blade flashed before Wolf’s eyes.

His world went dark before he could even feel the pain ripping through his veins.

~ / . / . / ~

A soft melody, floating through the air. It was so familiar. It danced in the wind, flickering and flirting, tucked among a bed of blossoming flowers and waving grass, with the sun framed beneath branches of trees and silhouettes of leaves. How long had it been since he had last felt freedom like this? How long had it been since he had been back to his homeland on the plains?

The melody twisted. Why did it hurt? The melody was wrong, the harmony was wrong, the tempo was wrong, the notes were wrong, it was all wrong and Wolf didn’t know why.

Why? What was wrong? Why couldn’t he—?

In the distance, a howl echoed through the sky. It came again, and again, until all Wolf could hear were the howls, ringing and echoing through his ears.

And then it went up in flames. The lush lea, roaring as it fought a losing battle against the deep hatred that roared through its veins. Smoke filled the sky, filled the air, filled his mouth, filled his lungs, made him cough and gag and choke until finally, it was too much.

“Coyote,” he whispered.

A howl, so far away. Smoke, swelling. His heart, fading.

An aristocrat’s shoes. A whip, laid to the side. An arrow, arching through the sky. Aurelis’s flourishing fields, Pyrathi’s lonely shores, Gra’s shifting waves, Macedon’s high cliffs, Archanea’s lustrous castles, Khadein’s shifting sands, Altea’s refreshing blossoms, Grust’s knightly forests, Dolhr’s craggy peaks. Palles’s throne, covered in blood. A ballista’s wheels, creaking as it retreated. A coyote’s pained scream. Darkness, dissolving into the light.

Prowling shadows, preying on his undead heart.

~ / . / . / ~

When Wolf woke up, it took him a moment to realize where he was—lying in a bed on his back, the covers drawn over his shoulders. He tried to turn onto his side, and groaned loudly when he felt the pain sear through his veins. The candle on the bedside seared his eyes, and he raised his arm to raise his eyes. What had—

The mission.

“Wolf!”

He ignored Roshea’s gasp, forcing himself to sit up despite the piercing agony. “Where am I…?” he whispered, looking up at Roshea; he had rushed over to the bedside upon seeing Wolf awaken.

“In the Aurelian castle’s infirmary. We rushed you back as quickly as we could…”

“How many days…?”

“About three days, at this point.”

Pausing, Wolf looked up at the other man. Three days… there was something in Wolf’s mind, nagging and prodding at him. Why was it…?

“We were afraid you weren’t going to wake up before we had to leave again,” Roshea whispered, seemingly unaware of what Wolf was racking his brain to try and remember.

It clicked. They had a mission planned for three days’ time afterwards, and if he had been out for three days, that must mean…

The door creaked open, and Roshea turned immediately. “Vyland! Sedgar! He’s awake!”

Almost immediately, the other two were at Roshea’s side, crowding Wolf’s bedside; the three of them, standing there, cast a shadow over his immaculate sheets. “Thank the gods,” Vyland breathed out, relief weighing heavily on his face. Sedgar, meanwhile, seemed to stare at him with a strangely heavy look in his eyes. “But…”

“I know,” Roshea said, an unspoken worry hanging tense over their heads.

Wolf took in the two men, standing at his bedside, and felt something off. Not as though he hadn’t felt something off about their behavior in the short time they had been here, but there was something more this time. He couldn’t explain it.

It was then that he realized their state of dress—armor shined, gauntlets strapped, saddling boots on. “Were you going… on the mission?” Wolf whispered softly, his voice raw as it all fell into place.

“We don’t want to leave you alone,” Vyland started almost immediately. “But you’ll be in good hands, and—”

“I want to go.”

A long, pregnant pause. Sedgar was the one who responded, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Wolf, you can’t.”

“I want to go.” His legs shifted, moving as if he was trying to get out of bed. It sent pain, tearing through his chest. “I—” he coughed.

“You can’t.” Sedgar was firmer this time, pulling Wolf’s blankets tight around his waist and trying to push him to lay down. “Rest, Wolf… please.”

Wolf shook his head. “I don’t want to go,” he rasped, “I _have_ to go. Where is my bow?”

“We have it handled, Wolf. Please, just rest.” There was a strange tone to Vyland’s voice—strained and scratchy, as if something had been shoved down his throat.

“Where is my bow?” Wolf asked again, trying to shift out of his bed.

“Stop! You’ll hurt yourself again, Wolf, don’t move!” Roshea cried, pushing Wolf back so that he was sitting up in the middle of the bed.

“Where is my—”

“Cut it out, Wolf!” Sedgar’s voice echoed through the room, followed by a deafening silence. “We all wish that Coyote had not gone down the path he had! But he has. No amount of death is going to bring that back. Coyote did not give his life for you to lose yours!”

Wolf stared up at Sedgar, his lips unable to form words. Everyone was staring at him—whether that was relief on Roshea’s face or pride on Vyland’s face, Wolf didn’t have the energy to decipher.

“You know that the old Coyote has long since gone! What we did was… was right. We led him back to the path of righteousness. And now, we are the only people who can carry on his legacy. So… what do you think you are doing!? You told me you would not waste your life!”

“I am not,” Wolf finally said, glaring at Sedgar. “I am doing what Coyote would want me to do.”

“By dying? By throwing away your life? Is that what Coyote would want!?” When Wolf hesitated to answer, Sedgar sighed and looked away; when he turned his head away, a shadow came over his face. The words died from Wolf’s lips, and he averted his own gaze when Sedgar spoke again. “...Rest, now. Please.”

Hesitating for a moment, Wolf slumped back against the bed. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he could retort with, but his lips would not move. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he screamed for respite—for it to all just be over with.

Instead, his eyes fluttered shut.

When he woke up, they were all gone.

~ / . / . / ~

“Welcome back,” Wolf said. His lips were chapped, and his throat was dry. He licked his lips, and winced at how much it hurt.

“Oh, for Anri’s sake… have you been drinking your water? Come now. Open your mouth.” Wolf did as he was ordered to, and swallowed when Sedgar held the flask to his lips. When the water hit his throat, he realized just how parched he was, and drank eagerly until Sedgar pulled it away and pinned him with an expectant gaze. “Why haven’t you been drinking?”

“...I didn’t want to.” He ignored the way Roshea and Vyland shared a glance, and instead kept his gaze on Sedgar. “How was your mission?”

Sedgar narrowed his eyes, clearly about to say something, but then seemed to decide against it—going along with Wolf’s tactful change of conversation. “It went about as well as it could. We apprehended all of them. They’re sitting in the Aurelian jail as we speak.”

At that, Wolf cracked a smile. “You did well, then.” He watched as Sedgar set the flask down on the bedside table, and let him push Wolf to lay down on his bed.

Tucking the covers around him, Sedgar sighed. “...Coyote might be gone,” he whispered, “but we still need you.”

A lump welled in Wolf’s throat. He turned his back to the other men and closed his eyes—trying to fall asleep and forget what he had just been told.

~ / . / . / ~

Instead, the words stayed etched in his mind. They clawed at his heart, and when night fell Wolf found his fingers trembled so violently that he could not stop them no matter what he tried.

He remembered his days as a slave to the aristocracy, whipped and beaten and forced to work until his hands and feet bled. Even then, his fingers had not trembled. His feet had not shaken. He had stood strong. Even back then, Wolf had been their leader. He could not show weakness.

And when Coyote had freed them? He was to be the leader of Coyote’s personal, elite force.

“If I should wander from the path of righteousness, please… lead me back onto it.”

Never before had Wolf had thought those words would have made him turn against Coyote one day. It shouldn’t have been Coyote. It should have been him. He should have died.

They needed a coyote, who led them beyond what they ever could do without him. They didn’t need a wolf who only wanted to be gone and passed.

Was that why his fingers shook? Was it the fear of death? Was it the fear of meeting Coyote again? Was it the fear of being taken out of the prowling shadows that feasted on him?

Or was it not fear?

Wolf forced himself to turn his gaze away from his shaking hands and instead looked up at the ceiling. Shadows of his imagination danced in the darkness, blending in and out. It was all indistinguishable to Wolf. They all looked like the shadows that had pervaded Coyote’s body, had pervaded Coyote’s being, had pervaded Coyote’s heart.

They all looked like the shadows that had pervaded Wolf’s body, had pervaded Wolf’s being, had pervaded Wolf’s heart.

He screwed his eyes shut. No. What he had done was right. What he was doing was right.

“If I should wander from the path of righteousness, please… lead me back onto it.”

“...Coyote might be gone, but we still need you.”

He had done as Coyote had asked him. Now, Coyote was gone. There was no use for him to be here anymore, except for Sedgar’s and Vyland’s and Roshea’s selfish wishes. But what use were their wishes if he did not want to respect them?

They lived on for no reason. There was nothing at the end of the road for them.

But some part of his heart knew that was not right. Roshea lived on to help the grieving people of Aurelis. Vyland lived on to help the leaders of Altea create a better world. Sedgar lived to tell the truth of Coyote’s downfall.

They all lived. What of Wolf?

He felt it coursing through his veins, swelling and growing, overtaking him until he was shaking and trembling, but this time with the overwhelming sensation of simply… being.

And for the first time in all of his years, Wolf cried. He wept and sobbed, for the loss of a man who was larger than life itself—of a man who was both brighter than the sun and darker than the wolves, prowling in the shadows.


End file.
